


By Waters

by pherede



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherede/pseuds/pherede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"yo but what if the Valar were actually Lovecraftian horrors"</p><p>Mmhmm you were saying?</p><p>(I fucking love Lovecraft and I fucking love the Silmarillion and everything is better with purple prose and gibbering)</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Waters

Small and soft and bare they were, now, who had always been the strong and beautiful and bold before. The eternal twilight sky stretched over them, as always shading their forests and streams with shadows; but what had been soothing, the sweet introspective forest whose details blurred into rustling song, now became a twisting horror, a host of hiding-places in which dwelt their memories of Him.

The elves in their youngest days now huddled by the water, and their debate fueled itself with wretched fear, all of them with their eyes turned to the dark expanse of the forest they now mistrusted— as if He might be able to hide in the shadows, as if He were not all the eye could see when He approached. Those who had seen straight-on were stunned, compelled, appalled at the way their hearts betrayed them and longed to go and be devoured and be embraced by the maddening light; those who had only seen a corner, whose eyes had not been amazed by the shining alien mask of the face at the core of the darkness, they were now fled, gibbering, wailing of snakes and long dark hair that groped for its prey, of uneasy miasma, of geometric shifting oil-patterns in the very air.

Will we, they muttered: will we go with him, who promises beauty and wealth, who sings so sweetly from his mind-assailing mount of boiling triangles, the beast like a horse which devours in tar and shrieking the monsters that its master slays? Will we see the pearled beaches, and the white Tower, and the light of the Trees?

For each of them, having seen, knew; each of them burned with sick mad longing at his heart, and though their very souls revulsed in nausea they each could see no glimpse of a future in which they did not follow, for having seen Him, they desired Him, and they could not dissuade themselves.

And so they set aside and warned the tribes which had not yet encountered Him, and told them of their wandered kin whose echoed cries in the song of the forest now told of worse befallen them, of the whispered name of  _orcs_ ; and when they had hidden what they could spare, and warned the Twilight Elves to seek whatever allies they could, to gird themselves against unwanted sight…

…when they had resigned themselves to madness and to eternal horror and delight, they called him once again, Oromë, and upon his steed he came to them and swept them up in his grasping locks and pressed them to his snake-cold skin and carried them in his myriad appendages, moaning, to the endless western shore.


End file.
